On Sincerity and Being Raised Evangelical

"Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see."
-Linus, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown"

I've been drawn to sincerity lately. 

"As opposed to what?" you ask.

You may not have noticed, but I'm normally drawn to sarcasm, irony and snark.

It's weird. I've been doing a lot of sincere things recently. Sincerely. 

For example, I've been going to yoga. Have you ever tried doing downward dog insincerely? It's tough. 

I've also been listening to this song a lot. 

In addition, I went to a poetry writing group. The sincerity was as thick and oozing as blue cheese that's been sitting in a 70 degree office for three days. [This is not meant as a criticism of poetry groups or of this poetry group in particular. This poetry group is awesome.]

So, in the spirit of sincerity, I need to get something off my chest: 

My childhood was crazy--freaking insane. 

Can I just admit this? Can I just say it out loud? 

I don't even know who I'm looking for permission from--my parents, God, peers. 

Maybe my childhood was crazy in a generic fundamentalist-evangelical-culture-in-the-90s kind of way, and you grew up experiencing the same kind of crazy, and we can talk about it and laugh about it over an IPA or five. 

Or maybe my childhood was crazy in a very specific, unique way, the way that all families manufacture their own specific brand of nuts. Hard to say.

As a kid, I read everything and I believed almost as much.

I read Rush Limbaugh and absorbed the term "Feminazi." I also read the Book of Genesis and cried bitterly when I came to this passage: 

"To the woman he said, “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.”
-Genesis 3:16

This was not a single tear rolling down my face. This was curled up on the bunk bed I shared with my sister, clutching my Bible, I'm not sure I believe in God anymore tears. 

I was, like most 12 year-olds, very--well, sincere. 

And on some level, I believed that God hated women. I mean, just look at that curse. I'll take thorns and thistles for $1,000, Alex. 

And yet, in many ways I bought wholeheartedly into Christian culture. I out-did the most legalistic advice from Focus on the Family. I out-Phariseed the most stringent Pharisee. I believed deeply in the sincerity of my faith. And now I feel betrayed. 

I've watched my peers raised in evangelical Christian culture go to opposite extremes:

Type Y: Further entrenchment

Type Z: Complete rejection 

But I suppose there are also a substantial number of us in the middle--Christian, but not necessarily conservative. Maybe we support gay marriage or smoke pot every other Friday or don't think twice about dropping the F bomb. 

You know the type. 

Our Christianity is snarkier, more politically correct, more hip, more in touch with the inner cynic. We embrace doubt, irony, ambiguity, paradox, and "everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial."

Even as I reflect on the church of my youth, I find it difficult to relate to the incredibly "relevant" church I currently attend. There are things about it that I just don't get, such as: 

• Why is the focus of evangelism still on getting people to come to church? 
• Is that what this slick, well-produced video is for? 
• Was that guy in the video the same guy I saw in that All-State commercial yesterday?

And through it all, I'm drawn to the sincerity of the gospel. 

I'm still sitting in that pumpkin patch. It's cold. I'm tired. I want to go home and sleep in my warm bed. I don't feel cool or hip or relevant. I feel exhausted and beaten down. I feel ready to give up. 

Maybe then, the Great Pumpkin will come.